


Blue and Gold

by Wojelah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wojelah/pseuds/Wojelah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d only asked a question.  He’d only wanted to know what the woman had seen.  She’d told him, and he’d seen the truth lurking behind the madness in her eyes.  He’d seen the truth, and then he’d looked up and seen Rose Tyler.</p><p>And that was simply impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue and Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [relevant_elephant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/relevant_elephant/gifts).



> AU from the end of Doomsday.

“And I suppose, if it’s one last chance to say it, Rose Tyler….”

The hologram vanishes.

On a beach in Norway, in a universe that never saw her born, Rose Tyler burns.

\----

Mesotheracian is usually dark, evening lights banned by ordinance on all but festival nights. It’s the Night of Third Grace, though, and tonight the air is full of music and color and sparkle. It’s not bright enough to hide the tearing in the sky, and the colors that bleed through are shades no tongue yet living has ever named.

The panic causes a stampede. It’s hardly surprising, if unfortunate.

They find her crumpled by the entrance to an alley, ragged and bruised and unconscious. They take her to a triage center. When she wakes, she blinks at their questions. She doesn’t know the answers. 

It’s the Night of Third Grace, so she takes it as her name.

\----

The TARDIS registers the rip in the universe while he’s busy drowning a clutch of Racnoss. He hasn’t looked at that screen since he used it for his last message to Rose. He can’t ignore it forever, not and still call himself the Doctor.

He can’t convince his recalcitrant ship to land in Mesotheracian on the precise evening. He settles for two days later, when there’s little left but the clean-up and eyewitness accounts. It will have to do.

\----

On the third day, when no one’s come to claim her, they have to discharge her. They’re not without kindness, though - she’s given new clothes to replace the grimy, torn pieces she’d had on when they found her. They give her fifty Galactic credits, too. The Conventicle is generous. 

“Take care, Grace,” says Sister Eldest.

“I promise,” she says, offering a hug. There’s a slight commotion at the door - a wild-eyed woman pleading with a brown-haired man - and she slips away in the confusion.

It’s easy to find the space port. Easier to find a berth on a star cruiser looking for quick help. Easier, and stranger, and oddly familiar. When the ship launches and leaves orbit, she feels better. When her first shift ends, she stops briefly in the viewing room and watches the starscape unfurl. 

That night, she sleeps. When she wakes, she doesn’t remember her dreams - only that she had them.

\----

He’d only asked a question. He’d only wanted to know what the woman had seen. She’d told him, and he’d seen the truth lurking behind the madness in her eyes. He’d seen the truth, and then he’d looked up and seen Rose Tyler.

And that was simply impossible. 

\----

“C’mon, Grace,” Kxthallen trills. “Booze. Boys. Beaches.” 

“It’s a ten-day,” she protests. “I’ll lose my berthing.”

“There’ll be more,” zhe answers. “It’s Paghaliian Nine. It’s the ultimate resort station.”

It’s too hard to pass up. 

Three days later, it’s too hard to stay still. The sky doesn’t change and the stars don’t move and time is too heavy. She kisses Kxtha on the carapace and promises to comm, and goes to talk her way into a new posting. 

She finds a promising offer - a step up, really, and it’s easy to parlay with a wink and a smile and a little flirting, the echo of a man in a long coat with bright eyes and a quick grin flitting through her memories. She tries to grab hold of it, but it’s gone as fast as it came. It makes her think of the man - a different man, she's sure of that much - in Mesotheracian, and it makes her sad.

“Something wrong, love?” asks the _Orion_ ’s bursar, and she snaps her attention back to the goal at hand. The berth is hers moments later, departure in the morning.

At 03:00 hours, the shielding cracks around the resort station. She’s caught in the throngs, struggling to reach the _Orion_ , shepherding a Lypago and her litter along, praying that Kxtha is safe somewhere, when she hears someone shout her name.

Only it’s not her name. Or it might be, but she has no way of knowing. It doesn't matter - it catches at her ears and demands her attention just the same. It’s the brown-haired man from days before. “Rose,” he cries, “ROSE!” 

The shield is failing. She’s swept up in the crowd. They launch while she’s still trying to get back to the docking station floor.

It’s hours before she can collapse, what with the need to settle the refugees and help where she can. When she finally does sleep, she dreams of fire and wakes crying.

It’s not till she reaches the mess that she realizes something’s wrong, and only then because the galley server drops her plate and backs away. “Your eyes,” she hisses. “Your eyes.”

They quarantine her. She’s asked to leave at the next port.

\---- 

It is her. He’s certain. He’s more than certain. He's found the Void stuff to prove it. 

He just can’t find her.

Yet.

\----

Icthonier Station is lovely. The blue moon of Nerys Seven tints everything at night, calm and quiet. During the days, the station bustles.

She hates it.

Except at night.

She’s still in quarantine. They don’t know what’s wrong. Neither does she.

She can feel the energy crackling over her skin. She feels something out of joint, something building, fizzing through her. She still can’t remember anything before Mesotheracian, and she still can’t remember her dreams, but her days are full of whispers and half-formed images and moments of profound confusion. 

The nurses largely leave her be. She’s not troublesome. She doesn’t want to be. 

All she wants is to watch the stars, wishing they would change. 

At night, bathed in blue moonlight, she feels like she can breathe.

\----

She's here. He knows. The TARDIS is sure. The readings are clear. He’s bluffed his way past guards and nurses and there’s only a door to go. He just doesn’t know what’s going to be on the other side.

\----

She can feel the seconds ticking. She doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but she knows she can’t contain this much longer, whatever it is. She doesn’t know what she’s holding on for - doesn't know what, doesn't know why - doesn't know much at all, really. Not until the door opens.

\----

She’s burning gold, gilded in blue. He’s seen that fire in her eyes before. He thought he’d never see her again. “Rose,” he breathes, and steps forward.

\----

“Rose,” she echoes, and a door somewhere unlocks. Memory rushes in, filling in the gaps, until her fingers shimmer with it. “Bad Wolf,” she says, part answer, part warning, all recognition, as she remembers a beach in another universe. 

She looks at the man in the long coat standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and wise and worried. “Doctor,” she says, and then there’s nothing but gold, crashing down, crashing through, crashing over.

\----

“Hello,” he says, when she opens her eyes. She’d fallen when the light had dissipated; he’d caught her before her head could hit the floor. And then he’d waited. The blue moon is fading, its glow shading to green as dawn arrives. 

She’d been breathing - only just. Even so, she’d been so still. 

He’d waited.

When she opens her eyes, she smiles. “Hello,” she answers, and he grins back at her.

Her eyes are golden. He lets it be.

For now.


End file.
